“Perhaps Arthur didn’t know himself.”
“He must have found out by this time. However, be quick, Claudia. We can’t wait for the cart; we’ll walk.”
Claudia did what she was often doing at this time, hastily packed misgivings out of sight, and they started. Rain had fallen in the night; great pools of water stood waiting to be sucked up by the yellow soil, and massive banks of clouds moved sullenly to the east. Out from behind them the sun had flashed, and was shining steadily, transforming all he touched, and bringing, as he does in our northern lands, no languor, but an added energy. Now and then a body of troops marched briskly along up the road, passed the cavalry barracks, and turned to their right.
“Where are the Greys, I wonder?” said Mrs Leslie impatiently. “I hate to be left in this way, knowing nothing of what is doing.”
Claudia had no answer ready, and they went on. Presently her companion broke out again—
“I always vow I will not come and see these things from the outside.”
“How can one see them otherwise?” asked Claudia, in good faith.
“Oh, you must know what I mean. I call it outside when you toil along roads as we are toiling, and have no one to tell you where to go.”
“As to that, I suppose they’re all trying to cut off the Greys.”
“Ah, you’re not married,” said Mrs Leslie gloomily. Presently she stopped. “I don’t see the good of going on.”